


Season 1 Episode 6 - Entrée

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Hannigram - Freeform, Illnesses, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season 1, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: Jack goes to Hannibal, to confide in a friend about the mysterious events around Miriam Lass’s disappearance. Hannibal couldn’t care less, so in his Mind Palace NON-CON sexual shenanigans ensue.





	Season 1 Episode 6 - Entrée

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my project Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.
> 
> Kudos and comments are all very welcome. 🖤

It’s dark and cold outside. It’s dark and cold inside Jack Crawford’s soul, too: the fire in Hannibal Lecter’s living room may warm his skin temporarily but Jack feels a chill inside that he cannot shake away, no matter how close to the flame he sits. He’s afraid that this cold will nest within his bones well beyond this terrible winter.

“What would be the benefit of making you believe your trainee was alive, Jack?”

Hannibal has poured them two glasses of Courvoisier Succession. He closes his eyes and with a deep breath takes in the rich aromas of sherry wine, leaf of Havana cigar, licorice and hot honey. His demeanor portrays attentive friendliness and compassion toward Jack’s plight. He’s not entirely unsympathetic, of course: even cows feel fear in front of their slaughterer, don’t they? What a remarkably unpleasant feeling that must be.

“Hope. The Ripper wants to clog my vision with hope.”

“It can sometimes be brave to allow your self to hope.”

“Not the false kind.”

“I'm sorry about your wife, Jack. I truly am. I believe the world is a better place with her in it,” Hannibal says, and he doesn’t have to push himself very hard to sound sincere. “I am sorry about your trainee,” he adds. And this is the furthest thing from the truth. Because what a gift Miriam Lass has been. While keeping up appearances in tune to Jack’s words, he delights himself in the memory of the day the FBI trainee had found him. Every detail is perfectly clear in his mind: the sound of her leather shoes against the wooden floor of his studio, her subtle perfume of bergamot and white musk, her big, clever eyes. Too clever for her own good and not clever enough at the same time, poor thing. The best memory of that fateful day of course is the warmth of her body against his, her unsuccessful, pitiful struggle when he silently got her in a chokehold, the dead weight of her body in his arms as she lost consciousness. And how that had been just the beginning of a long game… one that poor Jack still has to see the end of.

Hannibal ponders how big his debt of gratitude with Jack really is. Not only has he sent trainee Lass his way, but now he has given him Will Graham, too - handed to him gift-wrapped with a big bow on top. Hannibal had been enthralled with Will even before knowing him: he was intrigued by Will’s unique abilities that made possible for the man to experience a crime scene from the inside. Seeing the murderer and their original design. Being in their mind. Being them, entirely, if only for a little time - in thoughts, feelings, desires, ambition.

Then he had met Will Graham in person. Hannibal is used to having no expectation about humanity, a bunch of mostly boring and overly predictable individuals, but he had felt an unexpected and sudden fascination with the man. A clump of neuroses and excessive sensibilities, an incredibly perceptive mind, all bundled up in a scruffy and rude exterior - that did nothing but enhance, in Hannibal’s eyes, how precious and different Will was from anybody else he had ever met before. How similar to him, maybe. Hannibal found himself caring about Graham in ways that were new to him.

Hannibal indulges in his already rich gallery of memories of Will Graham. How he’s moving the goalposts of their relationship, surely and rather quickly, from being a perfect stranger to someone Will strongly relies on. Maybe his only friend. Lonely Will, so desperate for companionship and understanding, but at the same time skittish and introverted. Damaged Will, who wrongly believes his gift makes him dangerous for society when it’s just the seed of the glorious being he is meant to be. What he will become, in time, with Hannibal’s care and intervention… it simply cannot be predicted. Too many possibilities, too many variables. The mystery of Will Graham: this is a topic that has kept Hannibal’s mind busy often lately. This makes the work only more engaging. Hannibal is ready to relish every moment of it and improvise as opportunities arise.

For instance, what to do with Will’s aggravating illness? Hannibal doesn’t have a diagnosis yet, but it’s something neurological in nature and no doubts quite serious: lost time, sleepwalking, possibly seizures. It may be used quite effectively against Will’s superficial mainstream morals, especially if Hannibal is successful in manipulating the episodes, as he’s sure he soon will be. It could be a source of entertainment in the short run too, while working at the bigger picture…

Hannibal imagines being able to have free rein over Will’s body, at first ideally while the man is unconscious, during one of his black-out episodes. Of course the fascination for Will’s mind is paramount, but in spite of doing his best to hide behind ill-fitted second-hand looking clothes and the worst smelling cologne ever, Hannibal finds Will’s physical vessel very alluring too.

Hannibal would be methodical and thorough in examining and enjoying Will’s helpless body, of course. He would relieve Will of all clothing first, then carefully give him a sponge bath - an intimate gesture that would be never allowed to him otherwise. He would love to display the body in a fitting way, for instance in his master bedroom, over blood red satin sheets, surrounded by an accurate selection of flowers and decorations. He would simply stand there for a while, at the foot of the bed, enjoying his power of life and death over the naked man and committing to memory how the light falls on each curve and angle, to be recalled in every details at whatever point in the future.

He would next explore Will’s body with all his senses, at a very leisurely pace. He would start caressing and pulling Will’s curls, as unruly as Will’s most hidden and savage thoughts, nestling his nose in his hair, breathing him in as the rarest wine. He would hold Will’s face in his hands and trail his thumbs all over Will’s exquisite bone structure, slowly, over and over again: the socket of those stormy eyes, the delicate cheekbones, the strong jaw, the asymmetrical and still enchanting shape of the rosy lips. Will would still have some instinctual reactions, and Hannibal bets they would be accommodating, needy, submissive. He would force Will’s mouth open and push his thumb inside, and Will would probably suck on it, little touch starved slut as he is. Lecter surely would like to taste Will’s mouth then, first sucking and biting gently on his lips, then pushing his tongue inside with curiosity and forcefulness, engaging in a kiss for as long as it pleases him. Would Will kiss him back? Resist somehow? Hannibal would then trail his wet lips along Will’s throat, feeling the steady pulse of his precious heart, lightly scraping at the delicate skin with his teeth while imagining to rip it open instead, with a single snapping bite - all life flowing out of Will Graham in the form of a glorious fountain of arterial blood. But that would be such a waste right now - Will Graham needs to live and thrive.

Hannibal would trace the muscles and the veins in Will’s shoulders, arms and forearms, the subtle lines in his palm, up to the long fingers, nibbling here and there, sucking slowly a couple of fingers deep into his mouth. He would surely rest for a time, delighted, with his nose buried in Will’s soft armpits. Then it would be time to commit his attention to Will’s chest, pinching and sucking on his tender nipples until they become sore and erect. Would he blush and whimper a little? Would he be ticklish if Hannibal’s hands moved very lightly over his sides? The palms of his hands would move from the chest down to Will’s trim belly, following his treasure trail with a couple of finger first and with his tongue right after. He might be tempted to stray south, but then he would caress his thighs, scrape them lightly with his nails, then continue down to the feet. Hannibal would suck and bite on a few toes, for sure, and then it would be time to move up again, along the inside of Will’s legs.

Hannibal would kneel between Will’s open legs, as in prayer. He would bend down, stuck his nose into Will’s crotch and stay there for a while, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep with his mouth open, hands resting at Will’s waist. Being surrounded by Will’s most intimate scent, that would be a treasure of a memory. After that he imagines he would take Will’s soft cock into his mouth, eyes still closed. Erections are a matter of mechanical stimulation, he has no doubt he could have Will hard without any need for his active participation. Would he moan? Would any of this reach his consciousness? Maybe haunt him in his dreams later? What kind of monster would Will imagine is all over him, touching him, getting him hard? Hannibal would gently grab his balls, caress them, and start rolling Graham’s cock in his mouth, sucking rhythmically on it, teasing it with his tongue. He would have to use all his reserves of self-restrain not to bite a little while having it grow thick and hard in his mouth.

Hannibal Lecter’s fantasy about a helpless Will Graham laying at his disposal usually ends here, but Jack is boring him so much with his petty complaints about the Chesapeake Ripper - especially rude to do so while he’s enjoying the Ripper’s very good cognac - that Hannibal retreats back into his mind, to imagine further developments for his naughty escapade.

If Hannibal was motivated by sexual interest, he could suck and stroke Will’s hard cock, keep him on the verge of orgasm for as long as he pleased, then have him come on a whim: he would have him deep in his throat and make sure to milk him dry before letting go. Maybe insist for the sake of over-stimulation, to have him squirm beneath him in his weakened state. He would be keen to commit Will’s exact taste to his memory. That would be a precious memory that could help him tolerate many boring therapy sessions, to be lived again and again as needed every time with no loss of sharpness or details. Or maybe he could also force Will’s delectable lips open, and fuck his mouth for a while, at a ruthless pace, with regard only for his own stolen pleasure. Maybe come all over him, debasing him in every possible way in his helplessness?

But that’s not really his design, sex is not one of his root impulses, it’s just the boredom of Jack’s company pushing him to even consider something like this. What Hannibal delights most of all in is the manipulation more than the end itself. And he holds out hope that one day Will may beg for Hannibal to give him all of that, of his own volition. One day, when he’ll see how alike they are, how alone in a world of boring sheep both of them are. How easy it would be then, to be together, in every possible way.

“She was a very brave young woman.” Jack says, still talking about the unlucky trainee he sent to catch The Chesapeake Ripper, his eyes on the dancing fire.

Hannibal nods, but his thoughts stay somewhere else, very distant in subject, space and time.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought Hannibal might enjoy this overpriced cognac, what do you think?


End file.
